


Two Cups of Tea

by babsalone



Category: Bastion (Video Game)
Genre: Evacuation Ending (Bastion), Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-03 01:46:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17274761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babsalone/pseuds/babsalone
Summary: Two cups of tea, Zulf explains, is an Ura children’s game. It is a game of two people, one of whom is sad, and the other of whom must make the first laugh. The first person must drink two cups of tea without laughing; if they laugh, they’re not allowed to be sad anymore. If they don’t laugh, they can be sad as long as they want.





	Two Cups of Tea

**Author's Note:**

> for Tobu as a secret santa gift. thank you for your patience and please enjoy.

Zia has always been the strongest of them all. She knew loneliness like she knew her own body, like she knew the tracks of her veins down her arms, and from that knowledge she built herself a tower of self-love and fiery will that no man was strong enough to break down. When everyone buckled under the weight of loss and the flaming wreckage of the world, Zia stood still, stood proud, stood strong, stood sturdy enough for all of them to lean on her without her ever faltering. Her heart beat in time with the Bastion’s and deep within them was the same burning Core, that brightness that kept them going, kept them holding up themselves and everyone else. And how hot that Core burned, how brilliant, but even with all her strength, it could not burn forever. Zia has always been the strongest of them all, but every well must run dry eventually.

Zia has not left her tent in three days. The Kid has come, Rucks has come, but she’s sent them away. Zulf comes but won’t let her send him away. Weak in body but strong in mind, Zulf is not one to be deterred.  He has a tarnished metal teapot with tarnished metal teacups, the only things sturdy enough to survive what the Calamity wrought, and says, ‘We’ll play two cups of tea.’

Two cups of tea, Zulf explains, is an Ura children’s game. It is a game of two people, one of whom is sad, and the other of whom must make the first laugh. The first person must drink two cups of tea without laughing; if they laugh, they’re not allowed to be sad anymore. If they don’t laugh, they can be sad as long as they want. ‘How does that sound?’ he asks.

‘Stupid,’ Zia grumbles.

‘Great,’ says Zulf, and he begins to prepare the tea.

Zia is curled up in her bedroll and she pulls her blankets over her head. She has created herself a cocoon of warmth and safety, a pleasing mix of pressure and darkness. It is like the time before being born, back when everything was quiet and simple. No thinking, just existing, just being. Wouldn’t it be nice to go back to then. But things are never as simple as that. No one is ever that lucky. One’s only choice is to live. 

‘The tea is done,’ Zulf says. Zia stays under the covers. Zulf pulls the blanket off her head and says, ‘I said, the tea is done.’

With a grumble, Zia pushes herself up into a sitting position. ‘I don’t want your tea,’ she says, but still takes a cup when Zulf offers it to her. It’s always been hard to say no to Zulf. She hesitates, watching Zulf, waiting for something to happen. 

‘You have to drink your tea if you want to start the game.’

Zia doesn't want to start the game, but she drinks her tea anyway. It's aged and earthy and tastes overwhelmingly like tree bark and dried moss. Zia likes floral teas, ones that taste like spring rain and dewy meadows and flowers that prickle when bloomed. But Zulf favors his flavors to be rounder, a mouth feel that starts at the bottom. If he wants to drink tea that tastes like the underside of a snail, that doesn't mean he has to make Zia do it too. Zia takes a sip of the, grimaces, and looks to Zulf to await his next move. 

Zulf watches Zia as she drinks her tea, his eyes bright and shining. There’s a minute of silence, of Zia forcing down her tea, of Zulf watching and waiting and preparing his mind to pounce. ‘I'm going to tell you a story,’ he starts, ‘and you have to promise to not tell the others. Do you agree?’

Zia stops slurping her tea long enough to nod. Getting stories from Zulf was a difficult task; he was particular about the image he put out, especially since the others were prone to teasing, and Zulf shaped his appearance to that of a refined gentleman, suave and smooth and charming. He’s always the diplomat, even if there’s no one with which to be a diplomat. Sometimes he plays himself the fool, but the stories of hijinks and tomfoolery were rare. All knew Zulf had a questionable past, but no one had the knowledge to its extent. If Zulf requires this story to be secret, it must be something  _ really _ good.

‘When I was young, I had a… difficult relationship with the missionary. He didn't find me until I was 13, and I was raised on the streets. I was, one might say, very uncouth. He wanted me to be a man of the Gods, one who worshipped and revered them. I had no desire for such; I wanted to run around with my friends and be, well… a hooligan, I suppose one could say. And I was a little hooligan. I was 15 and I had a boyfriend of whom my father didn’t approve and we got into all sorts of trouble. Most of the time, it was smoking cigarettes and petty vandalism. We painted some very crude things on the sides of buildings.’

‘Like what?’ Zia asks, already growing giddy from the secret knowledge Zulf is imparting upon her. 

‘Nothing that needs to be repeated,’ Zulf huffs, and clears his throat. ‘Go back to drinking your tea, I'm not finished yet.’

Zia returns to sipping the bitter liquid, and Zulf starts again. ‘As I was saying. We got into trouble a lot and my father was losing patience. He was a kind man, and he never yelled, but his frustration grew. And I was not used to having someone instruct me, so I often acted out. I said a lot of foolish things to him. One time, it became very bad. He had just picked me up after my third arrest--’

Zia sputters and nearly drops her teacup. ‘Your  _ third _ arrest?!’

Zulf's cheeks bloom like roses. ‘I was a troubled youth,’ he mumbles. ‘But that's not the important part. Let me finish. We were in the den, and he was telling me I couldn't act like that anymore, that I had to be a gentleman and well-behaved. Well, I became so angry I called him a…’

Zulf turns his face away and mumbles the secret into his sleeve. ‘What? What'd you call him?’ Zia asks, breathless and silly with excitement, frustrated for the story’s climax. 

Zulf sighs, makes the sign of Mother over his chest, and says, ‘I called him… I called him a Motherfucker.’

Zia gasps and drops her teacup. The bark-brown liquid seeps into her blanket, but she gives it no attention. To think of pious Zulf, who prays three times a day and never says anything worse than ‘damn’, who lines his clothing with proverbs, who sings his sorrows with the words of gods, to think of him blaspheming so deeply and darkly, is… is…

It’s hilarious, is what it is. It's so absurd it turns around to humor and Zia takes deep, measured breaths to keep her face as still as slate. Zulf did not look at Zia during his shameful confession but he now turns his gaze towards her, and frowns at her unamused look. 

‘Not even a smile?’ he asks, and his lips sprout into a small one to encourage her. Zia remains unmoved, and Zulf shakes his head. 

‘This isn't over,’ he says. ‘You still have one cup of tea left. But I have to--I have to pray. We'll do this later.’

Zulf leaves in a flurry of swishing robes and repenting fingers and Zia waits for one, two, three long breaths before she erupts in a fit of giggles light as wings. His story has momentarily lifted her despair like birdsongs, but it's not enough to relight her flame. Still, it's one worth remembering, and she's curious to are what the second story brings. 

Zulf comes by the next day. Zia doesn't need his words to know to he spent the night singing his repentance. Again he has teacups and a teapot and more earthy, smoke-tinged tea. He goes about preparing the tea and he says, ‘I know you laughed after I was gone.’

Zia does a very good job of not smiling. ‘I have no idea what you're talking about,’ she says, and swallows the bubbles of laughter that rise up and dance in her throat. 

‘That's cheating, but I'll allow it. We still have one more cup of tea, after all.’ Zulf pours her a cup of tea, eyes yesterday's tea stain on her blanket, turns his lips into a gentle curve at her. Zia remains ever impassive. ‘Fine, be that way. But I'll make you laugh with this next story. But. You can never tell Kid I told you this, do you understand?’

Zia nods and hides the shine of excitement in her eyes. She had considered telling the Kid about Zulf's previous story, if only because she knew how much he would appreciate Zulf's blasphemous curse. But Zia promised her silence, and the Kid couldn't hide a secret no matter how hard he tried. It will be difficult to keep the Kid's secret from himself, but it's worth it to learn it. Zia blinks back her excitement and says, ‘I understand.’

Zulf watches her, gauges her sincerity, then says, ‘Very well. This happened very long ago, before you came to the Bastion. It was shortly after the Kid brought me to her. I was… I wasn't doing so well. I was pretty despondent, and I responded to little. I barely ate. All I really did was sleep. All I thought about was everything I lost, everything I loved. All I thought about was her.’

The words climb up Zulf's throat and stick, expand, choke off anything more. A tear trickles down the side of his face and he takes deep, even breaths to halt more from coming. Taking his hand, Zia lifts it to her waiting lips and kisses it. ‘This doesn't seem like a very funny story,’ she says, her voice soft as footsteps and twice as gentle.

A moment of quiet stillness passes between them, the tension building in Zulf's bones fades,  and he says, ‘No, no, it is. I just became lost in what doesn't matter.’ Zulf takes his hand back and kisses Zia on the forehead. ‘Let me start again.’

With a deep breath, Zulf begins anew. ‘So, it was a long time ago, and I was very sad. The Kid, Gods bless his stupid heart, wanted to make me feel better. He suggested a drinking contest; he said that alcohol would make everything better, and that the best way to drink would be a drinking contest. And I… Gods only know why, but I agreed. I suppose I was so low, I felt like I couldn't get any lower. We had quite a few bottles of Bastion Bourbon, too, so the Kid said we should use those. And bourbon is… quite strong. That was the first time I ever had bourbon, actually. I've never been one for drinking. The Kid, on the other hand, is quite used to it. As you've seen, I'm sure.

‘But, I'm getting distracted. We had Bastion Bourbon and shot glasses and the Kid and I set to drinking. He did a few shots first, as a way to even the playing field. It’s obvious his tolerance is much higher than mine. Then we did shots together, but after the third I was feeling quite woozy. I knew I would get sick if I had anymore. But the Kid wanted to keep going, and I didn’t want to lose, so I…’

Zulf trails off and his mouth twists into a grin both pleased and a little guilty. ‘What?’ Zia asks. ‘What did you do?’

Her tea has been abandoned as her attention has been drawn into the story. The murky liquid has grown bitter like unripe seaberries and every sip blooms a grimace across her features. But the tea doesn't matter anymore; any story involving the Kid and being drunk is bound to be a good one. Zulf keeps his next words hidden beneath his tongue and Zia shakes his arm until he finally speaks. 

‘Well… I decided to fake drinking. Instead of doing a shot, I would throw it over my shoulder. Gods know how he didn't notice; I suppose he was more invested in his own drinking to pay it any mind. Regardless, this went on for quite a while. I don't think he realized how drunk he was, otherwise I think he would've stopped before he did. He certainly told me some things that I doubt he would have told me normally.’

‘Like what?’ Zia asks, eyes growing bright and vibrant with curiosity. The Kid was quiet, reticent, and getting personal information out of him was harder than herding squirts. Everything she knew of him was slowly pulled from the locked box in his heart over the years they've lived on the Bastion. Nothing came easy from him. But if Zulf got things out of him while he was drunk, maybe she should try getting him drunk, too. 

‘Nothing that needs to be repeated,’ Zulf tsks. ‘It’s not appropriate for you. Still, I'm not done with this story. So, he was very, very drunk, and I had mostly sobered up. I was worried about the Kid becoming dehydrated, or more dehydrated, anyway, and went to retrieve water for him. I was only gone for a few minutes, but when I returned, he was… was…’

Zulf begins to giggle, high pitched as a pecker's song. He takes a deep, measured breath, but that does little to help. With laughter bubbling in his throat, Zulf says, ‘He was completely naked except for his boxers on his head, and waved his Pike while declaring himself king of the Bastion.’

For her credit, Zia lasts a good ten seconds without making a noise. Then she snorts, then she giggles, and finally she explodes in a shower of laughter. Once again she drops her teacup and she throws herself back on her blankets and slaps the ground as her laughter sings in her tent, out of her tent, into the brilliant blue skies outside. Tears roll down her cheeks and it takes several minutes for her to calm herself. As her breathing evens out, she looks to Zulf, who is grinning like the Anklegator that caught the Pecker. ‘I guess you won,’ Zia says, still grasping for breath. 

‘I suppose I did,’he purrs, and hides his smile with his sleeve as not to gloat. ‘So, now you can't be sad anymore. How does that sound?’

‘I don't think it's that easy.’

‘No,’ Zulf says, ‘it's not. Feel this moment of freedom, savor it. Some days, it's difficult to go on. But you can tell me what's wrong. Let me help you.’

Zia closes her eyes, measures out her sadness into drops, unfurls the words hidden in her teeth. ‘…I miss my father. I never knew him. He was gone so much. He was less like a father and more like a stranger. But… he still was my father. Sometimes I think about, what if he had escaped too, and we met on the Bastion, and we were finally a real family, and--’

Zia's words die off like everyone in the Calamity died off. She presses her hands to her eyes and weeps, a low, mournful howl. Zulf strokes her hair like her father never did. Tear after tear falls from her eyes, and it's not until she's as dried out as ocean brine do her tears cease. As Zulf continues to pet her hair, she asks, ‘Does it ever get better? Does it ever go away?’

‘No,’ Zulf says, and leans down to kiss her on the forehead. ‘But it gets easier. I still miss my own father terribly. Some days, I still cry over him. But grief is like a tide; it comes in and goes out. It goes away, but it always come back. But it gets easier over time. It grows manageable. You are stronger than everyone else here combined; I know you can survive.’

With a sigh like winter winds, Zia uncovers her eyes. ‘So I guess I don't have a choice, huh? I just have to keep going.’

Zulf pats her head with a smile. ‘Exactly. Now, you go take a bath and get clean. I'll take care of the mess here.’

His tone is only slightly chiding. Zia mirrors his smile and sits up. ‘Yeah, yeah, I will.’ She pauses a moment, then kisses his cheek. ‘Thank you for this. It really helped.’

‘Of course,’ Zulf responds. ‘I'll always be here for you. Remember that.’

Getting up, Zia grabs a towel and a clean set of clothes, then says, ‘Oh, and Zulf? Next time you're sad, I'm doing this to you.’

She leaves and Zulf laughs to himself. It's always good to see her in better spirits.


End file.
